


His Captain, His Commander

by doctor_badass



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-27
Updated: 2013-10-27
Packaged: 2017-12-30 16:00:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1020620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctor_badass/pseuds/doctor_badass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kirk has been on medical leave, despondent and secluded and mystifying his caretakers. </p><p>Until the USS Enterprise gets back from its mission.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Captain, His Commander

**Author's Note:**

> I am no expert in the goings on of the USS Enterprise, so PLEASE correct me if you see any factual errors! I AM INVITING YOU TO DO THIS PLEASE
> 
> Also, I'd like to thank my Electronic Media teacher for this one. If she had actually enforced the rules, I wouldn't have been able to write this baby in class.

Eventually, the empty walls of his apartment became too much to bear, this bout of insanity brought along by the realization that it was so big and he was only one person and _he was only one person._

 

One person who couldn’t even be bothered to customize the settings of the house, so that the windows automatically opened every morning, left over from when he had a reason to get up and no reason to give up. When he was successful, the cocky guy who beat the system and graduated from the Academy against all odds. And there were a _lot_ of odds.

 

He was discouraged and questioned and sneered at, yet there he was, graduating and smirking at the applauding crowd. But he was nothing, _nothing_ without his attitude and jaunt and general screw-you personality. Because when he was injected with Khan’s blood, something had been taken from him, sucked out of him when Bones slowly pulled the syringe out, terrified of what could happen to his captain. _Everyone’s_ captain. The man who they had come to respect and love had gone, though.

 

And the Enterprise had gone, as well.

 

While he was on medical leave, he had received regular visits from his worried crew. They had brought him stories and laughter and worried eyes concealed with smiles, and he felt better. But then, they left, off on another mission, and his mood turned sour once more. He snapped at his caretakers, secluding himself in his apartment and refusing treatment.

 

Eventually, it got to the point where his neighbors and landlords and caretakers were so fed up with him that they went directly to Starfleet and begged them to find him a job somewhere. Anywhere, really.

 

They had replied that yes, they had already tried that, many times, but they would see if they could send a representative over who could persuade him.

 

So they sent Spock, as soon as he got back from his mission. Kirk hated them for it. It was probably Bones who recommended the Vulcan to Headquarters, damn him.

 

The buzz of the intercom had nearly killed him. He didn’t answer the door for several minutes, standing in front of it, staring at the place where he guessed Spock’s feet would be shuffling nervously. His visitor didn’t buzz in again, he knew Kirk well enough by now. He knew why Bones had taken him aside before he departed from the Headquarters to come here, and given him a long look.

 

“There’s a reason why you were in the room when he first woke up,” he had gruffly said, in the tone of voice he reserved for making the announcement to the crew that it was too late for his patient, that he would recommend saying a final goodbye. “I doubt he would be in as good a condition as he is now if you hadn’t been there.”

 

Spock had mentally shuddered at the idea. If this was a good condition for him…

 

By the time Kirk had finally opened the door, his green blood had been pulsing in his ears, drowning out the sound of his shaky breathing. His captain had just backed slowly towards the wall, eyes downcast as he made room for him to enter.

 

His captain had said nothing, not a word as he slowly poured coffee for the both of them.

 

His captain did not drink his coffee, so Spock did not drink his, either.

 

His captain had said nothing as he fell, slowly, it seemed, towards Spock.

 

He had said nothing as Spock had caught him, pulling his face up, breaking the surface of the water he had been drowning in for months, crushing their lips together and knowing that no glass barrier could hold them away from one another again.

 

It had been beautiful and terrible in ways he could never describe. He couldn’t describe it, even decades later, when he had believed to have finally understood human emotions. But, Kirk had reminded him, gripping his hand beneath the sheets, there are some things that even humans themselves don’t describe, not because they can’t, but because there are some beautiful things that are meant to be quiet.

 

He didn’t speak when he said this, but Spock understood.

 

To breathe with him now was to _live_ with him.

 

Kirk hadn’t dared to leave a visible mark on his commander, fearing the consequences. He didn’t think he could bear to be responsible for the green patch which would be left on his neck for a few days afterwards, earning his commander raised eyebrows and stifled smirks.

 

Instead, he layered the pale, smooth expanse of his neck with short breaths and gasps as he thrust against him, the sweat rolling in golden sheens down his bare back, still muscled from his days of training. He almost gave in so many times, gave in to what he needed and wanted most. But to see his commander, with so much _emotion_ etched into his features, features that were not designed to withstand such feelings, was motivation enough to hold out for him. 

 

And when it became so strong that Spock’s dark eyes had flashed open in desperation, so dark that it was impossible to tell where the dilated pupil ended and the iris began, Kirk had sunk into his commander’s eyes in understanding, and gripped the metallic headboard tight, groaning as he released inside of him. He had slotted his mouth fervently onto his commander’s, tasting the heat and pent-up longing of all those missions and all those years in the academy.

 

Afterwards, they might have spoken about it, but the soft grip of  his captain’s hardened hand was all his commander needed as a confession. 


End file.
